


no need to rush

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You need this,” Sascha says, straddling Lucas’s chest. </p>
<p>He stares up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, the green gleaming in the moonlight. The aerie is soaked in silvery light, the wide moon hanging low over the trees. Light seeps through the creeping vines, casting a glimmer to his bare olive-dark skin. </p>
<p>“I need <i>you</i>,” he corrects, voice all but a low rumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no need to rush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts), [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts), [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts).



> Prompts: moonlight, control, tremble

*

“You need this,” Sascha says, straddling Lucas’s chest. 

He stares up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, the green gleaming in the moonlight. The aerie is soaked in silvery light, the wide moon hanging low over the trees. Light seeps through the creeping vines, casting a glimmer to his bare olive-dark skin. 

“I need _you_ ,” he corrects, voice all but a low rumble. 

That, she knows most assuredly. She feels his desire as if it is her own, pervasive and aching. Her empathy is a gift, and she uses it with alacrity, testing its boundaries – and her own. 

What she also knows is that Lucas needs to let go, for just a moment. 

She reaches up and takes one of his silk ties, a dark green to match his cat-like eyes, wrapping it around his wrists. “You need this,” she whispers, looping the ends over the headboard and knotting it gently. He is a changeling leopard; he can undo the binds at any moment. 

But he will not. 

She does not tell him what he needs lightly. He is a truly independent, focused man, with the honed instincts of an alpha; he is driven and ruthless when it comes to DarkRiver, and he very rarely will relax, even when it is just the two of them. He is as taut as a drawn bow, and it reverberates between them, a feedback loop she is learning to maintain and gentle. 

To have him to at her mercy is a gift. She strokes a hand over his tense arm muscles, wetting her lips. 

“You are quite tense,” she says, her voice even and methodical. The tone sets him alight; he likes when she talks Psy, as he teases. “My research indicates that restraints in sexual situations can be used as a tool for release of control.”

The cat stares at her from his heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re saying I’m wound up too tight, kitten?” he murmurs. 

“In the colloquial, I suppose that is true,” she says primly. 

Lucas shifts under her, his stomach going concave with his deep inhale. “Well, you’ve got me where you want me.”

Smiling slightly, she cups his face in her hands. “Tell me if you don’t like it,” she whispers before she kisses him. His lips part for her tongue and she touches her tongue to his, exploring the dark wet of his mouth. The bond between them shivers, sparking color and light; he likes it, she knows it. There is a knot of tension deep within him, aching with old worries and new stressors. 

She bites his bottom lip before her mouth moves to the stubbled line of his jaw, tasting the woodsy salt of his skin. Underneath her, he shifts and makes low sounds of want; they rumble in his chest between her thighs. A shiver of pleasure quivers through her. She will make him tremble yet. 

“Sascha – “

“Be quiet,” she murmurs against his throat, her teeth grazing the rapid flutter of his pulse. Her hands slide over his arms as they stretch over his head, nails scratching against his skin in a way she knows he likes. She has catalogued what he likes and what he does not, in an effort to become more efficient in giving him pleasure. Perhaps it isn’t quite romantic; but she likes knowing him so well. Her Psy mind is useful in that respect. 

Something of a purr rasps from his throat as she sinks her nails into his biceps, the muscle tight and unyielding under her touch. “Bossy,” he mumbles. 

She raises her face from his throat to meet his green gaze, luminescent in the silvery night light. “Close your eyes. Or I will blindfold you.”

Eyebrows raised, he manages a smirk. “I might like that, kitten.”

“Shush,” she says, shifting downwards. Her knees settle on either side of his hips. She lowers her mouth to his chest, kissing and mouthing towards one flat nipple. A shiver runs visibly over his skin as she runs her lips around the sensitive skin. When she sets her lips on his nipple and bites, the breath rushes out of his chest and she can almost feel the tension leaking from his muscles, replaced by pleasure. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” he mutters, his hips shifting below her. 

Need coils within her as she moves her mouth across his chest, sinks her fingers into the coarse hair there, licks at his nipple and rubs the heels of her hands against the taut skin of his abdomen. His skin is warm and flushed under her touch and she feels the spikes of desire in his blood, in his aura. He’s all but calling out for her mentally, rocking against the restraints at his wrists but never enough to break free. 

He likes it, she thinks with a content smile, her tongue at his navel. He likes it. He trembles under her touch and he is lost to anything but the feel of her skin on his. It is exactly what she wanted. 

“I want to touch you,” he growls as her mouth slips over the jut of his hipbone. 

She sits up, pushing her loose wavy hair over her shoulders. He stares up at her, warm to the touch and flushed to her gaze in the moonlight. Dark hair slides over his brow and neck, clinging damply to his skin with sweat. He is utterly frustrated and utterly full of desire, and all hers.

“Not yet,” she says, though she aches for the feel of his hands on her breasts and his mouth against her. “You are supposed to relax.”

Her hand curves around the hard length of him, stroking with soft even touches, and he shudders, eyes rolling to the cat before shut with dark-lashed lids. She breathes out against his skin and kisses the strong muscle of his inner thigh, her tongue soft against the crease of his hip and thigh. 

“Sascha – “ His voice swallows on itself as she licks along the length of him, taking the head of his length between her lips as her hands continue to stroke him. He shudders and sinks into the mattress, rocking his hips into her touch. She presses the heel of her hand to his hip gently, modulating the rhythm. His desire and pleasure spirals through her, the bond between them all color and light and heat. With every flick of her tongue and turn of her fingers he gasps, low hard sounds echoing in her ears. She loves the unraveling of him, the pressure bleeding away from him just for a few moments. At her mercy, his control is relaxed; he can be something other than the alpha of everyone’s need. 

When he comes, he is all but boneless against the mattress, ruffled and flushed red all over his olive-dark body. She licks her lips and sits up between his thighs, letting the cool night air slide over his naked body. Looking at him in the moonlight is delicious; it brings her a pleasure she couldn’t have dreamed, in her previous life. 

She reaches out and touches the gentle line of his throat. 

His eyes open, sated and cat-like in the dim light. 

“You are relaxed?” she asks softly. 

“C’mere,” he says instead, voice low in a way that sends a spark of desire right through her. 

Wetting her lips, she crawls up to kneel next to his side. Her hands go to the silk tie at his wrists. 

“Would you like to touch me?” she asks. 

He nods, eyes focused on her. She slips the tie free from its knots, and sets it aside on the nightstand. 

His hands come to her waist and pull her down the length of him, holding her fast. She stretches against him as a cat, as one broad hand strokes down her side and between her thighs. 

“You’re quite the minx,” he says in a wicked, soft tone right near her ear. “I can barely move.”

“Barely?” she teases. 

He huffs a laugh against her throat, turns her onto her back. “I’ll recover sooner than you’d like, I’m sure. But I feel damn good now,” he mutters as he kisses wetly along the line of her neck, teeth grazing her skin. His clever fingers stroke between her folds, finding her slick and ready. She arches into the touch, her fingers tunneling into the soft lengths of his hair. 

His smile is sharp and warm against her skin. “You feel damn good, too,” he says hotly, sliding two blunt fingers into her as his thumb finds her clit. 

With a wanting moan, Sascha trembles and gives him back the control so essential to him. 

*


End file.
